


Guard

by queenhomeslice



Series: Prince of Lucis, King of My Heart [12]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Canon Compliant, Chubby Reader, Curvy Reader, Equity, F/M, Implied Sexual Content, Politics, Refugees, crownsguard reader, fat reader, plus size reader, refugee reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-17
Updated: 2020-08-17
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:41:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25959967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenhomeslice/pseuds/queenhomeslice
Summary: With Gladio out on a short Kingsglaive mission, Noctis asks you to stand guard with him in a council meeting. But when Noctis asks about your opinion on a controversial political matter, you can't help but speak out about the injustice.
Relationships: Noctis Lucis Caelum/Reader
Series: Prince of Lucis, King of My Heart [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1656907
Comments: 4
Kudos: 46





	Guard

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I am not affiliated with Square Enix or any production studios behind the Final Fantasy franchise or Final Fantasy XV; I am not making money from this work and I do not own the rights to FF in any way. 
> 
> _____  
> Sorry guys I'm having big writer's block but uh, have some politics I guess? Also I use dollars here bc I'm lazy and apparently not good at knowing actual yen exchange rates so just roll with it ok? Rated M for Noct/Reader implied physical intimacy, just in case.

Regis is seated at the head of the long mahogany council table, with Clarus at his right hand. All of the other advisers are seated on either side of the long table, stacks of documents and glasses of water in front of them, folios open to their current orders of business. A few of the more tech-savvy ones have tablets propped up in standing cases. Noctis and Ignis are on the king’s left side in the first two seats at the table—Noctis is slumped to the side, holding his head up in his palm with his elbow on the table, while Ignis sit straight up in rapt attention. The prince bristles when Ignis pokes him in the ribs, or leans closer to further point out this or that detail in the report in front of him. 

The sun slots through the panes of the high Citadel windows at an angle, just barely missing you—you're grateful for that, seeing as you’re already too hot in your black Crownsguard fatigues. You stand mere feet behind Noctis, short chubby body relaxed into military rest. Gladio is on a short overnight mission with some of the glaives, and to your surprise, Noct had personally requested you to stand guard over this meeting instead of Prompto. Not that the blond is slacking off—he's doing extra drills with the Marshal today, and you’re certain that Cor is keeping him quite occupied down below in the training yards. 

Your gaze is steady, all at once alert and relaxed—you lose yourself in the soft, raven peaks of Noct’s hair, the slender slope of his pale neck, his broad shoulders and tight muscle underneath his black t-shirt. You can’t help but blush the longer you look at your prince—and if only the other council members knew what you and Noctis did in the bedroom in your off time—they'd be more than blushing, for sure. But you’ve never been anything but entirely devoted to Noctis in every possible way. You’d quit paying attention to the subject of this particularly early-morning meeting an hour ago, but suddenly, the sharp sound of Noct’s deep, husky voice snaps you back in focus. 

“____________,” he says, slightly turning—and suddenly, all eyes of the noble councilmen and women are on you, not to mention the king himself and Clarus Amicitia. 

You swallow hard, willing down your blush as you get lost in Noct’s deep blue eyes, heart breaking open all over again on the cut of his jawline. “Yes, your Highness?” You unclasp your arms from behind your back and press one fist over your heart, bowing short and low. Noctis hates the formality but you don’t want the council—or the king, or Clarus—to have doubts about your appointment to the guard. 

Noct rolls his eyes at you as you come out of the bow but affords you a small, knowing smile. “You’re from a refugee family, right? What do you think is a fair housing policy on the west side?” 

Your cheeks burn in embarrassment at the question. “I, uh, well—if I may look at the proposed developments?” 

Ignis gives you a warm smile. “Certainly.” He beckons you with his finger and you stride forward, shivering as Noctis practically plasters himself to your side. You lift Ignis’ folio and review the matter in question. 

“I think,” you say as you set the notebook back down in front of Ignis, “that the new subsidized housing in question is too unaffordable for most refugees. Most of them, like my immediate family, work in factory or minimum-wage jobs, living paycheck to a week before paycheck. Most of us don’t experience too much upward mobility due to outright bigotry...” 

“So what do you propose we do,” one councilman interrupts. “Surely you can’t propose that his majesty give the refugees housing and guaranteed jobs for free? What will that say to native crown citizens?” 

Your ears burn with the councilman’s words. You flick your eyes to Regis, who has a tight expression on his face, and then back to the huffy noble. “With all due respect, sir,” you say slowly, choosing your words carefully. “What does it say to the hundreds of thousands of refugees when you put the interests of a privileged few over their well-being? Niflheim has already taken so much from us, from Lucis—pardon my frankness, but the king rules more than just one city. I am not saying that scaling back the Wall to only hold Insomnia was right or wrong—war is war, and decisions must be made. But these are people we’re talking about—people who make your food and build your cars and appliances, who go home to the slums every day while you sit in your fancy offices, delegating their livelihood. Please, sir. Tell me how that’s fair.” 

Noctis snorts, and Ignis hums in appreciation in his throat. Your eyes are brimming with tears, voice quaking and legs threatening to give out. You want to run away and bury your head in the dirt. 

“Now listen here you—“ the man starts, but Regis holds up a hand, silencing his anger. 

“Private ___________,” he says. “First of all, let me thank you again for your service to our city and to the crown. I can see now that my wayward son isn’t so hapless after all when it comes to picking his retainers.” 

You nod and bow again, murmuring quiet thanks. 

“Now, you say that most of the jobs held by refugees do not pay a suitable, living wage.” 

“No, your Majesty.” 

Regis tilts his head to a woman and his tired green eyes crinkle as he smiles. “Katherine, what is the minimum wage in Lucis?” 

The councilwoman leans forward and folds her hands on the table. “Eight dollars an hour, Majesty.” 

“Hm.” Regis looks to you. “What do you think it should be?” 

The council _immediately_ goes into an uproar until Clarus bangs his fist on the table and hisses at them to _Shut up!_

Cheeks red and feeling very much out of your league, you ball your hands into fists at your sides and stare unflinchingly at King Regis. “Fifteen dollars an hour, sir; with an additional universal basic income of one thousand dollars for everyone who makes under a hundred thousand every year.” The subject of monetary equity isn’t new to you—between peaceful protests and social media activism, you and your family have been fighting for better treatment of Lucian refugees to Insomnia for years now. 

“That would disincentivize people to work!” screams one councilman. 

“There’s not enough money in the royal coffers to fund that system!” yells another. 

“We are in the middle of a _war_!” screeches another, and on and on until— 

Regis holds up his hand again after letting the council hurl their concerns at you. 

Noctis has his hand at the small of your back, silent but supportive, letting you speak your peace for yourself. Ignis is holding your other hand, gripping it tightly. 

“You’re proposing to lower the government housing rent, give universal basic income to hundreds of thousands of people, and raise the minimum wage?” Regis confirms. 

“Uh, yes—yes sir. I mean, Accordo has these and other progressive policies in place, and their economy is far from collapsing, even under Niflheim sanctions.” 

“I see.” Regis levels his gaze at Noctis and Ignis. “I want you two—and you, _________—to work on a proposal. I want it on my desk by the end of the week.” 

Noct’s eyes go wide. “Uh, sure dad.” 

Ignis nods his head. “Consider it done, your Grace.” 

Regis turns to Clarus, then his council. “Dismissed.” 

“But—” one councilman tries to say, before Clarus gives him the look of death. 

“Dismissed!” Regis repeats with a wave of his hand. 

The council grumbles out of the board room and into the hall. Noctis and Ignis stay, so naturally, you don’t move from the prince’s side. 

“Sorry to put you on the spot like that,” Noctis numbles, burying his face in your plush stomach, not even minding the buttons on your coat as they dig into his skin. 

Even though Regis and Clarus are aware of your relationship with Noct, you still avoid their gaze in embarrassment at Noct’s open affection. “It’s okay,” you murmur, petting Noct’s hair. “I’m uh, always ready to speak up about the plight of the refugees.” 

“I had no idea you considered the situation that dire,” says Regis apologetically. He snaps his head toward Clarus. “Prepare the Regalia. I think it’s time we take a drive.” 

You, Noctis, and Ignis meander down to the training yard to rescue Prompto from the Immortal’s drills, deciding to have a quiet dinner out at Kenny Crow’s to wrap up the emotional day. 


End file.
